


Lament

by anotetofollow



Series: Fanfic Commissions [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Drama, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Ostwick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 11:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12629817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotetofollow/pseuds/anotetofollow
Summary: Following the death of his sister, David Trevelyan must return to Ostwick.Fanfic commission for @tessa1972





	Lament

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tessa1972](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tessa1972/gifts).



> Commissioned by tessa1972, partially based on her fic 'Take Me Home' - thank you so much for commissioning me! <3

=

David leant against the rail of the ship, looking out at the water that churned and broke against the prow. The Waking Sea was grey as steel, its dim colour a mirror to the clouds that gathered overhead. If they were lucky the storm would not break for a day or so. David was not feeling especially lucky, however. He would not have been surprised if thunder began to rumble above them within the hour.

They had boarded at Jader two days before, after a long, difficult ride from Skyhold. Winter had settled upon the mountains and the rocky passes were even more difficult to navigate than usual. David could have covered ground more swiftly if he had travelled alone, but he had insisted upon staying with the wagon for the entire journey. The cargo was too precious to be guarded by anyone else. It was his responsibility. His burden.

The box was ensconced in the passenger quarters now, only a wall separating it from where David slept. The crew had attempted to stow it in the belly of the ship at first, among coils of rope and stacked crates of merchandise. David’s outburst at that had frightened the younger hands half to death, and they gave him a wide berth when they passed him on the deck. He did not care. He had no wish to speak with them.

As he stared out across the choppy waters David tried to remember how long it had been since he was last aboard a ship. It surprised him to realise that it had been on his journey to the conclave, a merchant vessel making the crossing from Ostwick to Highever. He had thought then that it would be mere weeks until he returned to the Free Marches. Yet over a year had passed, and so much had changed, and only now was he making his return.

So caught up was he in his thoughts that he barely noticed Dorian walking up behind him. When the mage placed a hand upon his shoulder he started, jerking away from the touch.

“I’m sorry,” Dorian said. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s alright,” David replied. “My mind was elsewhere.”

“Hardly surprising, given the circumstances.” There was boundless sympathy in Dorian’s eyes. David could hardly bear it.

“If the weather holds we should reach Ostwick by tomorrow morning,” he said, desperate to speak of anything else. “Though it looks like rain.”

Dorian cast his eyes up to the darkening sky. “It certainly does,” he said. “But I doubt you really want to talk about the weather, Amatus. You’ve barely said a word about any of this since we left Skyhold. It’s not good for you, keeping things like this locked up. I should know.”

The mage reached for his hand, but David moved deliberately away from him. “Not now,” he said. “The current is no good for me. I need to get some sleep.”

He refused to meet Dorian’s eyes as he walked away. It was petty of him, but he knew he could not keep his composure under the look that the mage would be giving him. Instead he went to the lower deck and lay on his narrow bunk, feeling his stomach lurch as the ship rolled beneath him.

The Inquisition had won a major victory the day before the messenger had come. David and his companions had finally managed to seize a stronghold in the Hinterlands, a tactical position that Cullen had been coveting for months. It had been hard, bloody work, clearing out the bandits who infested the place like cockroaches, but in the end they had prevailed.

They received a hero’s welcome upon their return to Skyhold. Josephine had organised a small banquet with her usual efficiency, and the wine had been flowing freely. Food was served, stories were told, endless toasts were made. Everyone’s spirits were high, and David’s more than most. He was surrounded by his friends, the Inquisition was gaining strength by the day, and he had Dorian beside him. Things were as perfect as they had been in a long time.

David and Dorian retired early that night, ignoring the jibes of their companions as they made their way out of the main hall and up to their quarters. They had fallen upon one another the minute they walked through the chamber door, wine-stained lips meeting clumsily in the darkness. Hours later they slept, and when they woke their appetites were no less sated.

They did not know then that a messenger had arrived at Skyhold, and was already speaking hurried words to the soldier on the gate. All they knew then was each other, exchanging fervent touches as the sun rose over the Frostbacks. So tangled up were they in their passions that they did not hear the footsteps on the stair outside, or the voices in the hall. Only a sharp knock on the chamber door broke them from their reverie.

Eventually, reluctantly, David got up to answer it. The moments after that were hazy.

The next thing he remembered clearly was sitting on the cold marble of the balcony, the thin blanket around his shoulders doing little to keep off the winter chill. Dorian stood silently nearby, his fingers trembling where they gripped the balustrade. He seemed to be anchoring himself there, as if he did not know what his hands would do if they were unoccupied.

David could do nothing but look out across the yawning void of the valley, his eyes vacant and dull. He kept running through what the messenger had told him, unable to process any of it. A rescue mission gone wrong. Templars caught in the crossfire. One had been killed. David could not reconcile Ser Rheda, the dead Templar, with Rheda, his sister. It could not be right. A mistake must have been made somewhere. He had not even known that she was close to Skyhold. Somewhere in a far corner of his mind, a voice whispered at him.  _ She must have been coming to see you,  _ it said.  _ If it wasn’t for you she’d still be alive. _

“I have to go to Ostwick.” David started, as though he had not been expecting himself to speak. His voice, usually so low and calm, broke on the last word.

Dorian looked at him, mouth slightly open. He looked as if he wanted to say something but did not know where to start.

“I have to go to Ostwick,” David repeated, as though saying it could make it more real somehow. “I have to go to Ostwick-” he choked on the statement, his voice a mixture of anger and almost childlike fear.

His lover walked over to him then, wrapping his arms around David and pulling him to his feet. David stumbled, but Dorian managed to keep him upright. His hands were firm where they gripped his shoulders, and he looked into David’s eyes as he spoke.

“You don’t have to go alone,” he said quietly. “We can go together. If you don’t mind, of course.”

David felt relief wash over him. It eased his heart, just a little. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak aloud.

Dorian nodded at him, then made a face. “That means a sea voyage, I suppose.” His tone was breezy, but a little strained. It was obvious that he was attempting to turn David’s mind from his grief, futile as his efforts might be. “Kaffas, but I hate the ocean. Deep and damp and full of horrors. Well, can’t be helped. I’d swim across it if you needed me to, Amatus.”

His monologue forced half a smile out of David, who leaned forward to kiss Dorian and end his tirade. “I know,” he said. “And I’m forever grateful for it.”

They had departed for the port at Jader later that afternoon. The Inquisition’s advisors assured David that they would be able to handle things in his absence, and urged him to take care on his journey. The messenger had shown them where the surviving Templars were camped, a few miles to the north of Skyhold. David met them there in person, to collect Rheda’s remains and offer them shelter in his halls. The Templars were grateful for his assistance, and spoke in glowing terms of his sister’s dedication to her cause. David wished that they hadn’t. He did not want to dwell on thoughts of Rheda.

Dorian did his best to comfort David during the long days of travel, but David found himself pushing back against the mage’s consolations more often than not. The guilt he felt for Rheda’s death crept up on him slowly, consuming him by degrees. By the time they boarded the ship to Ostwick he would barely speak to anyone. Bitterness festered in him, and every kind word felt undeserved.

It was early afternoon when David was awoken by one of the deckhands shouting that they were ready to dock. He rose, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and made his unsteady way up to the deck. The storm was about to break, and the first cold rains were lashing the ship. David shivered, pulling his coat closer around himself as the silhouette of Ostwick materialised out of the mist. The great double-walled city rose up from the cliffside, the overcast sky turning the grey stone almost black.

David insisted on helping the sailors carry Rheda’s casket from the ship onto the waiting wagon. They insisted that the Inquisitor need not trouble himself with such menial work, but one look from him silenced their protests. Dorian lent his strength too, though his help was unnecessary. David knew it was a gesture more than anything, a reassurance that the mage would support him even through his silence.

The Trevelyan retinue that David had been expecting was nowhere to be seen. Only one of his relatives had come down to the docks with the servants, and she stepped forward to embrace David as soon as Rheda’s casket had been loaded onto the wagon.

“David,” Fae said, her voice thick in her throat. “You came swiftly.”

“I left as soon as I was able.” David hugged his eldest sister tightly, unmindful of the rain that soaked them both. “Maker, Fae, I didn’t know what else to do.”

Fae took a step back, holding her brother at arm’s length. “There is nothing more you could have done. Come, let’s go home. You must be freezing.”

David nodded in acquiescence, then caught sight of Dorian out of the corner of his eye. Ashamed by his momentary lapse in manners, he gestured for the mage to come and join them. “Fae, this is Dorian. Dorian, my sister, Fae.”

“It’s good to meet you.” Fae stepped forward and clasped Dorian’s hand warmly. “David has spoken of you in his letters, of course.” She paused, then turned to David. “I do keep meaning to reply. Things have been hectic in Antiva, though I suppose that’s no great excuse.”

“It’s fine,” David said. “You’re here now.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Dorian said to Fae. “Though I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Quite.” Fae cast her eyes down. “Come now. Mother and Father will be waiting.”

David and Dorian followed Fae into a waiting carriage, and they began the trundling ascent up the road to Ostwick. The three of them sat in silence, none of them wishing to broach the subject of Rheda’s death. David was thankful for that. He was not yet prepared to think about it, and especially not when a reunion with his parents was impending. A knot of anxiety had settled in his stomach at the thought of it.

The carriage passed through the great gates of the city, and wound its way through the cobbled streets towards the Trevelyan estate. The rain had stripped the usual scents of fish and saltwater from the air, and the open markets were quiet and empty. Ostwick felt like a different city to the one David remembered. Perhaps much had changed since he had departed. Perhaps he was the one who had changed.

Eventually the carriage pulled up outside the steps of David’s childhood home. He climbed out, taking a long breath to ground himself, and he and Dorian followed Fae as she made her way up towards the entrance.

His parents were waiting for them in the hall. David’s father, Bann Fagen, looked older than he remembered. His face was deeply lined, and there was more white than grey in his hair now. Beside him stood Valerie, David’s mother. She wore black for mourning, and her eyes were red-rimmed from crying. He had not seen either of them for years.

David stopped a few paces away from them, not sure what he could say. They had rarely been affectionate towards one another before. To start now seemed wrong, somehow.

“Father,” he said. “Mother. I am so sorry.” The words felt empty even as he said them.

“Sorry won’t bring Rheda back,” Fagen said, his voice hoarse. “Did you bring her with you?”

David nodded. “Of course.”

He sniffed. “That’s something.”

“It’s been so long, David,” Valerie cut in. “Would that you had come home sooner. We’ve heard nothing but rumours since the conclave. Rheda had been gone almost as long-” She put her hand to her mouth, silencing a sob.

“I am so sorry, Mother,” David said. He could feel his own tears coming. “Truly, I am. You know how I loved her.”

Valerie, unable to speak further, merely nodded. Beside her, Fagen had turned his attention to Dorian. “And who is this?” he asked.

David steeled himself. He had known this was coming. “Lord Dorian Pavus, of Minrathous.” He paused for half a breath. “My companion.”

“You bring a Tevinter into our home?” Bann Fagen asked, his eyes widening. “Maker’s breath, boy-”

“House Pavus, you say?” Valerie interjected quickly. “I believe we share some relations, do we not? I was Lady Bhradain, before marriage.”

Dorian made a small, formal bow towards her. “Indeed we do, my Lady. I believe one of my forebears married into the Bhradain line generations ago.”

David marvelled at his mother’s masterful handling of the situation. Bann Fagen could not do insult to Dorian’s heritage again without causing offence to his lady wife. Valerie had always been a true diplomat, and time had not dulled her wits. David was deeply grateful for her assistance. While he was sure that she would not exactly approve of his relationship, her desire for domestic harmony would eventually win out above all else.

Luckily, the house steward chose that moment to arrive. He took their luggage and showed them to their rooms, speaking to David as though he were a guest in the house and not a member of the family.

David was strangely relieved that he and Dorian had been placed in rooms on opposite sides of the west wing. It would be easier for him to keep his distance that way. He did not know himself where this desire for isolation had come from, and he did not think he could explain it adequately if he was asked. Better to chalk it up to propriety for now.

David bathed and changed in his chamber, grateful for the warm water and dry clothes. The room he had been put up in was not the one he had inhabited before leaving Ostwick. He imagined that his suite had been reassigned to some visiting noble, or repurposed for some other use. He was not surprised by the lack of sentimentality. His father had done the same when Rheda had joined the Templars.

At that thought David was overcome with a wave of grief, and had to lean against the wall to steady himself. For a while he had been able to ignore his reasons for being there, to pretend that it was simply a long-overdue visit. The funeral would be soon, he realised, perhaps as soon as the following day. He could not pretend for much longer.

The rest of the day passed in a haze of tension and silence. The family ate together, seated far away from one another around the dining hall’s central table. Fae’s husband Rosco made several attempts to engage the Trevelyans in conversation, but each time their exchanges were brief and stilted. David felt bad for the man. Lord Rosco was a kind man, and his Antivan warmth was ill-suited to the emotional austerity of a Marcher household. He and Dorian got along well, however, and David was relieved when the two of them began to talk between themselves.

The only break in the tension occurred when David’s sister Leah arrived. She lived as a lay sister in a Chantry near Markham, and the news of Rheda’s death had taken a while to reach her. Leah was open in her grief, embracing her family in turn and weeping openly over their loss. It was a balm, David felt, to have someone so frankly acknowledge why they had come together. It lanced their shared pain, allowing some of the hurt to drain away.

They all retired early that night, exhausted by the day and dreading what tomorrow would bring. The funeral would begin in the morning. David did his best not to think of it as he lay alone in his bed, staring up at the canopy. His efforts were for naught. Hours passed before sleep finally found him.

* * *

It took a moment for David to remember, when he awoke. For a brief second he thought himself still in Skyhold, and he turned to speak to Dorian beside him. When he found himself alone everything came back; he was in Ostwick, and today was his sister’s funeral.

If anything the silence was worse over breakfast than it had been at dinner the previous night. None of the gathered group could bring themselves to eat, and even Rosco was quiet as the servants cleared full platters of food from the table. Eventually Bann Fagen announced that it was time to leave for the Chantry.

Dorian caught David’s shoulder as the family filed out of the estate. “Are you alright?” he said. “I’ve barely seen you since we arrived.”

“I wish we didn’t have to be here at all,” David replied. “Maker, Dorian, but I hate it here. I would leave Ostwick today if I could.”

“I know.” Dorian took his hand and squeezed it briefly. “It won’t be long, Amatus. I promise you that.”

David managed a smile. “I know,” he said. “Is this your first time at a Marcher funeral?”

Dorian nodded.

“They’re long affairs,” David sighed. “Pious. Pointless. A Revered Mother who barely knew Rheda will extol her virtues, and every relative from here to Orlais will try and use the loss to gain traction with my father.”

“Tevinter funerals are not so different,” Dorian said. “The nobility is the same almost everywhere. No tragedy is above manipulation.”

“Unfortunately so,” David said. He walked in silence for a moment, turning something over in his head, before speaking again. “It would mean a lot if you would take the place beside me, today.”

Dorian frowned at him. “That is traditionally reserved for family spouses, is it not?”

“It is,” David conceded. “And I would have you there.”

“I… don’t know what to say to that,” Dorian said quietly. “Apart from to accept, of course. I will do whatever you need to make this easier.”

“I don’t know about easier,” David said. “Father isn’t going to like it, that’s for certain.”

The funeral was exactly as David had expected it would be. A room full of strangers pretending to mourn. It felt false, somehow, like a dream. He could not cry, could not feel grief at all. This was nothing to do with Rheda.

Chantry sisters burned incense and sang canticles, and all the time David could feel his father’s eyes burning into him. His capacity for caring was running out. As the Revered Mother instructed them to bow their heads in prayer, David reached across to take Dorian’s hand in his.

There was a wake at the estate once the funeral was over, and most of the mourners went with the family when they returned. David was dreading this more than the funeral itself. Everyone there knew of his new title, and he had already heard people whispering about the Inquisition. He did not want to spend the day dealing with nobles who wished to court his favour. He could imagine nothing worse.

When they arrived back at the estate Bann Fagen pulled David to one side. “I need to speak with you.”

“Is there something you need?” David asked.

“What were you thinking?” Fagen hissed, shaking his head. “Bringing the Tevinter with you, keeping him beside you today of all days. People are already talking, boy. Your antics with the Inquisition have caused rumour enough without this.”

David forced himself to remain calm. “People may say what they wish, father. I came here to bring my sister home, and to say farewell to her. Nothing else concerns me.”

“It should,” Fagen said. “You are my heir now, boy. The future of our line rests on you. Does our family name mean nothing to you?”

“Not especially,” David shrugged. His patience was worn thin. “I never asked for this, father. I never wanted it. Give it to a cousin, for all I care. If you’ll excuse me.” He walked away, leaving his father gaping after him. David was sure there would be consequences for his impudence, but at that moment it mattered little.

He found Dorian at the side of the room, watching the gathered party.

“That didn’t look like it went well,” Dorian said.

“It didn’t,” David said. “But no matter. It’s done now. Maker’s blood, I need a drink.”

Dorian produced a glass of wine from the table beside him and handed it over. “I thought you might.”

“Thank you.” David placed a grateful hand on Dorian’s shoulder as he drank. “Honestly, Dorian, I couldn’t have done this without you here.”

“Then it’s a good thing I came along, isn’t it?” he grinned. “Ah. I believe we’re about to be intercepted.”

David looked up to see Leah approaching them, her head bowed low as she weaved past distant relatives attempting to catch her attention. When she drew closer to her brother she looked up and met his eye. “Follow me,” she whispered.

Exchanging a curious glance, David and Dorian did as they were told. Leah slipped into a side passage and led them up a set of servant’s stairs. They climbed for what seemed like forever, until finally Leah stopped outside a heavy door. She pushed it open, and the three of them walked inside.

The room beyond was a small library, much neglected. The shelves were dusty, and the floor had not been swept in some time. Fae and Rosco were already there, sitting at a small table by the fire. They raised their glasses in greeting as David entered the room.

“Come in,” Fae said. “We thought you might need a break. Maker knows I did.”

“I remember this room,” David said, pulling up a seat beside her. “Rheda practically lived in here when she was a child.”

“We thought it would be appropriate,” Leah said. “The Chantry rites serve a purpose, of course. She had been delivered to the Maker now. But there are some ways only we can mourn.”

As if on cue, Rosco produced several bottles of dark wine from beneath the table. “From my own vineyards. If we drink to Rheda, we should do it well.”

“A man after my own heart,” Dorian said, taking a seat next to David. “If you don’t mind me participating in the toast?” He trailed off, making it a question.

“Of course not,” Fae said seriously. “You’re family now.”

Leah nodded. “Don’t let our father concern you. He is set in his ways. If David has welcomed you in, then so will we.”

David felt his throat grow tight. He associated home so closely with his parents that he often forgot how much he missed the rest of his family. Rheda was the third sibling they had lost. Sometimes it was too difficult to be around those who had survived, knowing who was gone. Yet he loved them anyway, and they him. He raised his glass. “To Rheda,” he said.

“To Rheda,” they echoed.

David would remember that evening until the end of his days. He and his siblings had talked for hours, drinking wine and sharing stories about their sister. They laughed, and cried, and paid tribute to her in a way that the somber group below could never manage. Fae and Leah welcomed Dorian into the fold, and he spoke animatedly with them long into the evening. As the night wore on David put his arm about Dorian’s shoulders, and did not feel uncomfortable doing so. He had been accepted by the people who mattered. That was enough.

They retired late, and David woke tired but content in the morning. He could not say that he was happy - Rheda’s death still weighed too heavily upon him for that - but he felt that he had done well by her, returning home and reconnecting with his remaining siblings. There were few enough of them left, and he knew from now on the three Trevelyan children would be closer than they were before.

There was still uncomfortable business to be taken care of, however. He sat in a terse meeting with his father where they discussed what would be done with Rheda’s share of the estate, and dealt with the innumerable other small things that must be done before he could return to Skyhold.

After what seemed like forever, all was done. David arranged passage back to Orlais as soon as he was able, longing to return to the place he now considered home. His farewells with his parents were short and formal, but Leah, Fae and Rosco came to wave him off at the docks. Leah and Fae both embraced Dorian warmly when they said their goodbyes, and Rosco pressed a crate of fine Antivan red onto David as a parting gift. To David’s surprise, he felt a pang of regret that he must leave so soon. Of all the things he had expected to feel upon leaving Ostwick, that was not one of them.

The weather had cleared somewhat since their first voyage, and the return journey went swiftly. It helped that David was once again comfortable having Dorian close to him. The days at sea and on horseback were easier to bear now that he could speak frankly to the mage of how he was feeling. Dorian listened attentively to David’s anecdotes about Rheda, never interrupting or turning the conversation to happier things. David chastised himself for not opening up sooner. Every word he spoke allowed him to heal a little more.

Finally they saw the shape of Skyhold in the distance, and a few hours later they were crossing the great bridge to the castle gates. A cry of greeting went up from the soldiers on the battlements, and when the portcullis lifted David rode through to find the rest of his companions waiting for him in the courtyard. They greeted him and Dorian happily, each one delighted to see them safely back. A small homecoming feast had been arranged in the great hall, and David sat down to it happily.

“You missed quite a bit, Inquisitor,” Cullen said. “We’ve made some unexpected inroads in the Western Approach. You should see the reports as soon as possible.”

“Give the man a chance to breathe, Cullen,” Josephine said, swatting the commander’s arm. “He’s been back less than an hour. Let him rest.”

“How was it returning to Ostwick?” Cassandra asked David. “I never relish trips back to Nevarra myself.”

“Better than I expected,” David said, helping himself to more wine. “But not by much.”

Varric chuckled at that. “Ostwick isn’t exactly the most exciting city in the Free Marches,” he said. “You should stop by Kirkwall next time.”

“What, Qunari invasions and exploding Chantries?” Sera said, flicking a chicken bone at him. “Yeah, dead exciting. Proper party.”

“You found something there,” Cole said, turning his eerie gaze on David. “Unlooked for, unexpected. Three died, three survived. A family within a family.”

Varric placed his hand on Cole’s shoulder. “Kid, what did we talk about?”

“Don’t be creepy,” Cole said, looking down at his plate.

“That’s right,” Varric nodded, clapping him on the back. “Don’t worry. You’ll get there.”

David found himself speaking little that evening. Instead he watched his companions around the table, talking, shouting, arguing. The mismatched folk he had brought together did not always see eye to eye, but there was an undeniable bond there. They were a family, he realised suddenly. His family, in a way that those he shared blood with were not. There was a reason that returning to Skyhold had felt like coming home, and returning to Ostwick had not. He loved his sisters, it was true, but even with them he did not feel as comfortable as he did with the Inquisition. He smiled at the thought.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Dorian asked, seeing the look on his face.

“Not a lot,” David said. “I’m just glad to be home, that’s all.”

Dorian returned his smile. “I thought as much. It’s good to see you happy again, Amatus.”

The night was winding down, and people were starting to excuse themselves from the table. David and Dorian rose together, without a word needing to pass between them. They climbed the stairs to David’s chamber in silence, fingers intertwined, and when they reached the bedroom David pulled the mage close. He kissed him without restraint for the first time in weeks, and with that felt the last bit of tension he had been carrying dissipate. Dorian, more than anything else, was both family and home to him.

When they finally broke apart David sighed, and rested his forehead against Dorian’s. “Thank you for coming with me,” he said. “I don’t know if I could have done this without you.”

“It was no trouble. I liked your sisters.” He paused for a moment before speaking again. “I wish I could have met Rheda.”

“As do I,” David swallowed. “I’ll tell you more about her, one day. But not now. I don’t want to think of it now. I want to forget, for a while.”

Dorian smiled, and closed the space between him. “That, Amatus, I can help with.”


End file.
